Mrs. Summers motioned for Evie to follow her from the room. “I thought you might like to have it with you.”
Evie was a little upset at not having thought to bring it along herself. She stretched up in the doorway to give Mrs. Summers a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for thinking of it. I promised the ladies I’d have a new budget drawn up by the end of the month.” And while the information in the ledger was anonymous, and therefore unlikely to be dangerous, the idea of it being made public was nonetheless unnerving.
Mrs. Summers waved away the gratitude and led Evie to her bedroom, a spacious chamber decorated in soft blues and yellows.
“You’ll find your gowns already put away,” Mrs. Summers told her. “I imagine you are eager to be out of that one.”
“You’ve no idea.” Evie plucked at her skirts. “I’ll need to wash it out. I doubt a simple brushing will do.” She blew out a tired breath, realizing suddenly that if she wanted a hot bath, she’d need to go back downstairs and fetch the supplies herself. “We shall certainly be fending for ourselves for a time, won’t we?”
“I am afraid so.” Mrs. Summers pressed her lips into a line. “And there has been some disagreement over the distribution of responsibilities.”
Evie stifled a yawn. “What sort of disagreement?”
Mrs. Summers sniffed. “The gentlemen were laboring under the impression that I could cook.”
“I see.” Well, no, she didn’t, really. “Can’t you?”
“No.” Mrs. Summers sent her a skeptical look. “Can you?”
“I…I can manage some of the basics. Toast, for example, and eggs. I can make sandwiches.” She scrambled for something else, something a bit more impressive. “I assisted Cook in baking a cake once.”
“And how old were you at the time, dear?”
She’d been eleven, if memory served. “That’s not at issue. Surely you haven’t roused the staff every time you’ve had a mind for a snack, or early meal, or—”
“Certainly not. I am capable of waiting until it is convenient for everyone, or assuaging my hunger with a bit of bread and cheese.”
“Ah. Well, what responsibilities would you prefer?”
“I am to make tea, see to the linens, and otherwise keep the cottage tidy.”
“That seems reasonable.” She was wary of asking her next question. “What am I to do?”
“You are to clean up after meals.”
Evie winced. “I should rather try my hand at cooking.”
“You may take that up with Christian, if you like. He’s been given that task at present. As men seem to have a natural aversion to using the stove, I suspect he would be more than welcome to cede the responsibility to you.” Mrs. Summers glanced at the door and lowered her voice. “It might be best if he did. Breakfast this morning consisted of one part egg, six parts salt, and an appalling amount of butter.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I am still recuperating.”
“Did Mr. Hunter comment on it?”
Mrs. Summers brow furrowed in a perplexed expression. “No. He ate quite heartily, actually. They both did. And spent the whole of the meal discussing animal husbandry…I’m so very glad you’re here, dear.”
“I am as well, though here turned out to be someplace altogether different from what I was expecting.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Summers’s hands fluttered up to toy with the lace at her bodice. “Yes. Hmm.”
“You knew,” Evie accused.
“Yes, well…hmm.”
“And didn’t tell me.”
Mrs. Summers dropped her hands. “It was for the best.”
“You know very well I can, and will, keep a secret.”
“When it is important to you, yes.”
“When it is asked of me,” Evie corrected with a bit of heat.
Mrs. Summers put up her hands in a sign of defeat. “You are quite right. It was wrong of me to doubt your word. I apologize for it and for not informing you of the change of plans.”
Evie couldn’t stand against such sincere regret. She stepped up to give Mrs. Summers another peck on the cheek. “I’m not truly angry with you. It’s only that fatigue has made me cross. Please don’t trouble yourself.” An idea occurred to her. She smiled hopefully. “Although…if you were to assist me in fetching the tub from downstairs, I might see my way clear to forgetting the incident entirely.”
Half an hour later, Evie had her bath. But rather than change into a fresh gown when she’d finished, she chose the comfort of her night rail instead. She’d have a brief nap and be up for dinner…or so she thought.
The moment her head hit the pillow, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. She never heard the knock on her door signal it was time for dinner, didn’t so much as stir when Mrs. Summers peeked in on her. She slept for sixteen straight hours.
Eighteen